


The Sins of the Father

by undeerqueen



Series: The Long Way Round [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Abuse of Hyphens, Deathfic, Gen, Hurt Peter, Irondad, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 06:48:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14051310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undeerqueen/pseuds/undeerqueen
Summary: Tony POV of 'The Long Way Round'.It's the shot they needed, the one that could turn the tide in a losing battle...Then, too fast for him to do anything, Thanos tears Peter from the sky.





	The Sins of the Father

**Author's Note:**

> yooo long time no see! i'm so sorry this has taken me so long to get done! for those of you who requested the next part(s) of this fic you're the real MVPs! and for anyone who didn't want tony's pov but the true aftermath of what happened in 'The Long Way Round', lol that'll hopefully be out tomorrow!
> 
> apart from that thanks so so much for all the comments, bookmarks, and kudos on the last fic. i'm beyond humbled and grateful, you're all shining stars :) a special shout out goes to CamelotQueen for all her wonderful and kind encouragement! if you guys want to see the masterpiece of an artwork she did for 'The Long Way Round' please go here ->
> 
> http://emkayohh.tumblr.com/post/170894449095/ha-ahahah-ahahahahha-ok-so-if-you-wanna-read-a-fic
> 
> it's literally perfection i look at it everyday! with that being said, thanks ever so much again for all your kind words. i hope you enjoy!

At the last moment, before all is lost, Tony watches on his hands and knees as Peter snatches an Infinity Stone from the Mad Titan's grasp. The engineer is crawling in the dirt, reeling from a blow Thanos dealt him just minutes prior. He can just barely crane his neck up to watch as the Infinity Stone tumbles away, the Guardians scrambling after it. The Titan's howl of displeasure makes the hairs on his arms stand up.

Yet his heart trembles as elation floods him. "Nice work, kid!" he manages to shout down the comm. Momentarily, the complaints of his injured body are numb.

He can't see through the impenetrable mask that Peter is wearing, nor does the kid respond—too focused on pulling himself clear—but Tony imagines him smiling at the praise. He hopes Peter feels as proud of himself as Tony does of him.

It's the shot they needed, the one that could turn the tide in a losing battle. _We could actually do this_. The thought catches in his mind, sets his blood alight. His armour slowly grows back around him.

Then, too fast for him to do anything, Thanos tears Peter from the sky.

Tony's heart is in his mouth at the kid's surprised yell. Thanos' fist is the size of Peter's whole head and he squeezes the kid in his hand like he's literally a bug, a pest to be disposed of. Tony realises too late that he underestimated the Titan's cruelty. Peter—the fastest of them all, able to fling himself in and out of danger—should have been nothing more than a mild annoyance to a being like Thanos. Certainly not the focal point of all the Titan's rage.

Tony can only watch in horror as his illusion is shattered.

"HELP HIM!" he shouts to Quill, to Drax, and Gamora, and anyone who will listen. But they're too far away, too busy with the lost Infinity Stone. Tony's breaths go panicked and shallow, watching Peter's body dangle by his neck in Thanos' brutal grasp.

It's worse than his past as a weapons manufacturer, worse than the Mandarin, worse than even Ultron; he can only gape as the worst mistake of his life unfolds before him.

The price Peter will pay for obstructing the Titan will be his life.

Tony feels a scream leave his mouth like the wail of a phantom. Some other-worldly, out-of-body shriek of denial. He's too far away to help, still unable to get to his feet, his vision spotty and sparkling. Yet he sees with piercing clarity—the _agony_ of foresight—what's about to happen.

Thanos' massive fist rises. Against the backdrop of the orange sun, a gilded golden cast envelopes the Spider-Man cowl. His white eyes stare out with defeat, even as Peter's gloved fingers scramble frantically against the Titan's huge fingers wrapping around his neck. He hangs there for a moment, suspended in dust and time.

_Someone,_ Tony pleads through the dizziness, unable to look away, mouth going dry, _help him._

No one does. In the next moment, Thanos crunches the kid tighter in his grip and smashes him into the dust.

The force of the impact shudders up through the palms of Tony's hands even a hundred feet away. The nerves in his elbows tingle. He's too far to hear really, but he's sure the noise of Peter's bones splintering inside him isn't something he's imagined. It's enough to get his legs underneath him. He hobbles the too-many metres over to Peter's side, stumbles over the cracked earth.

Somewhere in the distance, Quill and his team are taking the brunt of Thanos' assault as he breaks away to pursue the lost Infinity Stone. Tony can't pay them any mind. Who cares what they do, who they are?

The kid is on the ground and he isn't moving.

He collapses on his knees at Peter's side, his whole suit retracting. One of his hands slips against a crevice in the ground, grazing the skin. Tony drinks in the inches-deep cracks fracturing around Peter's head like a bizarre halo. That's how hard he hit the ground. He's split _stone_.

"Read vitals," Tony demands what's left of FRIDAY's operating system. His voice trembles. It's like when Rhodey fell at the airport. But that was among friends, an accident. This is just a boy, not a soldier, slain in battle.

Tony peels Peter's mask off while FRIDAY whirrs away, being so careful with his neck. Huge whiplash-red bruises are already curling around his nape. Beneath the cowl, the kid's eyes are closed and there's blood— _Jesus, there's blood_. The tiniest fleck is beading at the corner of his lip. He is utterly still.

"No, no, kid, c'mon on, no, _no_ ," he murmurs, his hands roving over Peter's body, but not touching. If the kid's spine isn't shattered, it'll be a goddamn miracle. He tilts his ear over Peter's mouth, listens for the tell-tale puff of air.

There it is—just below the ringing in Tony's ears. The faintest, straining wheeze that blows Tony straight back in time, before the Infinity Stones, before the Avengers, to a cave in Afghanistan and a doctor who just wanted to see his family again.

His mind buzzes, vision going grey at the edges. Cold sweat collects on his palms and he shakes, waiting for FRIDAY's report and a course of action.

The seconds that FRIDAY scans Peter seem to crawl by. Battle rages on in the distance. At one point, a stray blaster hit of some kind goes right over Tony's head and he finds himself shielding the kid's body with his own. He doesn't think about Quill or any of them. His sole priority is Peter and how he can keep him alive long enough to get him home.

"Scan complete, Boss," FRIDAY announces. Her voice is crackling in his ear.

"Thank God," Tony gasps quietly. "Gimme something here, FRIDAY."

She seems to think for a moment. After Rhodey's fall and the Civil War, Tony had been working alongside Helen Cho and other specialists at the Compound to revolutionise the healthcare industry, jumping onto outdated medical scanners and prostheses and upgrading them with superior tech. FRIDAY could provide a better picture of what was going on inside someone's body than a standard hospital's MRI. More than that, she could run precise numbers, calculate survival odds, and give an emergency responder a  clear course of action.

Tony had hoped against hope, even as he was installing the upgrade into his armour before they left Earth, that he would never have to use FRIDAY for this.

"Mr Parker has sustained overwhelming critical damage, Boss. I calculate his chances of survival at less than 2%."

Tony blanches, blood draining so fast from his head he has to dig a fist into the ground to stay upright. "Okay, I know we took a hit back there but I don't have time to run diagnostics on you right now. Re-run the numbers."

She sounds achingly apologetic. "There's nothing wrong with my processors, Boss. Mr Parker's internal injuries are catastrophic. He's losing a vast amount of blood."

" _Where?_ " Tony asks, aghast. His eyes flit over Peter's glossy suit.

The Iron Spider armour—as Peter had so fondly called it when he put it on for the first time—is actually not made of metal at all, despite how it looks. It's a permeable carbon fibre, specially designed by Tony to be as shock-absorbent as possible (though it could never have withstood the madness of Thanos, Tony sees that now).

Through the porous fabric, he can see blood is spreading down Peter's thighs at the seat of his pants. He blanches again to think of where it could be coming from.

"His pelvis is shattered, Boss," FRIDAY reports on cue, sounding horrified herself. "There's massive internal bleeding in his chest and abdomen. I also detect cerebral oedema and his spinal cord is damaged. And he's got more broken ribs than not, including a first rib fracture."

"So? What does that mean?" Tony bites out, panting like his own ribs are stabbing into his lungs. "FRIDAY!"

"It means his chances just nose-dived, Boss. I can only recommend palliative treatment."

" _Ugh_ —" A tiny gasp has Tony scrambling in the dirt to lean over Peter's face, FRIDAY entirely forgotten. Peter blinks up at him in confusion. His pupils are uneven, the murky brown depths full of tears and sucking all the colour out of the kid's face. Tony can follow the blue of the kid's veins in his neck.

"Where 'm I...Tony...?" the kid begs thinly, head shifting in the dust. His chest is heaving. Tony thinks of that first rib fracture, the blood pooling in the pleural cavity. As gently as he can, but firmly enough to draw Peter's attention, he lays a hand on the kid's shoulder.

"Easy, kid. Hey, hey. I'm right here. Look at me, _look at me_ ," Tony orders, heart hammering. Peter winces up at him and Tony lets go, for fear of putting any pressure on those damaged ribs. "You just took one hell of a hit, okay? Stay still, I'm getting you out of here."

Peter's expression suddenly goes desolate, any remaining vestige of colour draining from his milky face. "Where's...Tony, _the Stone_ ," he gasps out, eyes huge and terrified. Of course this kid's first priority is the Infinity Stone he tried to keep from the Mad Titan's grasp.

Tony doesn't have the heart to tell him it's already over. They took their shot and missed. He can hear the Guardians losing in the distance.

"Shh. Don't worry about it, it's okay," he says instead but Peter must know, must see it written all over his face.

"Tony, I'm sorry," he whimpers softly, tears running down his temples, " _I'm sorry_."

It's the worst thing he could say. Tony's heart torpedoes. He rears back. "Stop it, kid, shut up. We're not doing the whole 'I'm sorry' thing, alright? We're not. It's not your fault. You need to hang in there. You do not have permission to check out on me, understand?" he insists. Very carefully, he holds his palm against Peter's hairline, trying to keep his head from moving too much.

Peter's eyes squeeze shut. His throat works, shoulders heaving, and he loses consciousness on a gag of air.

"Peter?" Tony asks, eyes stinging. Somewhere over his shoulder, a portal rips open. There's shouts and the sound of footsteps pounding across rock. The earth rumbles.

"Kid? _Peter._ " He presses two trembling fingers to the kid's neck. "Oh, God."

"Get up, Tony, we've gotta move! This planet's gonna blow, c'mon!" Quill suddenly skids to a halt next to him. He must lay eyes on the kid because the next words out of his mouth are, "Oh, _man_."

Tony's armour wraps around him from nothing. He scoops his protégé into his arms, no longer having the luxury of worrying about Peter's shattered bones when the kid's hardly breathing.

"I have to round up the others. Get him to the Milano, Tony!" Quill says, already moving.

Tony takes off in the direction of the spaceship, Peter cradled in his grasp. "Hold on, kid. Hold on," he hears himself say as he mindlessly navigates the erupting planet. "Stay with me. Please."

The docking platform is still down. Tony flies directly into the Milano and lands with a clatter, sprinting for the med-bay. He spies an empty cot and gently sets Peter down. "Hold on, hold on," he says over and over, words spilling from his lips like prayers. He carefully arranges Peter's limbs, helplessly throws a towel over his hips where the blood is spilling through.

There's nothing to do but wait for Quill and the others. He sits on a chair at Peter's side, his legs bouncing uncontrollably. As much as Tony wants to get Peter home, to safety, to _help_ , he cannot pilot the alien spacecraft and, besides, he couldn't just abandon the Guardians like that.

Still, the minutes he waits for them creep by, Peter's strangled breathing filling the silence. Unable to resist, he gently removes one of Peter's gloves, holds his hand to his mouth. "Please hold on, kid," he begs against the cool skin.

There's a weak gasp in response. Then nothing.

Tony's on his feet. "Peter!"

He's not breathing.

Tony's mind spins. He doesn't dream of starting compressions with Peter's ribs being so badly broken. Weakly, mindlessly, he taps at Peter's stark-white cheeks. His first two fingers dig into the pulse point in Peter's neck, feel it slowing and fading.

"Come on, kid, don't do this. Not to me," he begs, the hollows beneath his eyes growing wet.

"Out of the way!" From nowhere, Gamora shoves Tony so forcefully he hits the floor on his hands and knees. He stares up at her, wild-eyed. She's bleeding pretty good herself, covered in cuts and scrapes, red hair tangled and flaming. Her hands go to Peter's cheeks and chin, keeping his lips apart and tipping his head back just so. She tilts her mouth over Peter's, breathing for him, and Tony stops breathing altogether.

A breath.

Another.

One more.

It goes on. On and on for seconds at a time. Gamora repeatedly dips her mouth to Peter's, Peter's chest only inflating with her assistance. The skin around Peter's lips is turning blue.

_Come on, kid, come on_.

Tony's holding back sick when— _at last_ —Gamora pauses, smooth as a statue, calmly listening.

Peter's chest trembles on its own and Gamora ducks her head. Tony pulls in a gasp of air so quickly he goes faint, pressing a hand against his heart.

"Th-Thank you," he breathes, the words cracking and so inadequate.

Gamora merely nods. Her gaze flicks upward as Drax and Mantis help each other inside, closely followed by Quill who's got Rocket on his back and his arms wrapped around Groot.

"I'm getting us out of here," Quill announces straightaway, more serious than Tony's heard him so far. "Rest of you, case the med-bay, get everything we've got for Kid Peter. Mantis, do what you can for him. Tony..."

Quill doesn't even need to ask him. As if Tony was going to do anything else but stand sentry over Peter, watch his breathing and hold his hand, monitoring for the smallest change.

 

* * *

 

That smallest change doesn't come for an hour or two. The med-bay is limited to the most basic of supplies; the Guardians had no time to restock in between arriving to Earth and having to lead Thanos away straight after. Tony knows from experience that most painkillers don't touch Peter's enhanced metabolism anyway. He concedes to letting himself be patched up, which Mantis does for him from his post at Peter's bedside. She leaves to tend to Gamora and the others, with a promise to come straight back if the kid wakes or he needs her.

Tony already knows the journey back to Earth is going to be an arduous one. They can do very little for Peter out here but it's slow-going back home. The Milano limps through space, dodging asteroid fields which are all that remain of planets and stars as Thanos blows up every stop in between wherever they are and the Earth. Quill is taking it slow—at least as far as interplanetary travel is concerned—and the spaceship shudders along, rocks occasionally glancing the sides of the craft and sending a hollow, metallic echo reverberating through the med-bay.

It's an unnerving noise, one that Tony hopes will bring Peter round. He takes the kid's pulse again, frowns at the unstable, thready beat. On Peter's chest, a tepid cloth is drying. Tony had been using it to soothe the random fever that Peter had sprung shortly after departure. But now his skin is cold to the touch, clammy and sallow.

From what he can gather between FRIDAY and the scanners, it's like Peter's body has gone into stasis, his healing factor barely functioning but keeping him alive to suffer through every broken bone and pierced organ. There are some changes; the brain swelling has thankfully stopped and some of the bruises marring Peter's skin are gone, but his internal injuries are still bleeding and he still doesn't wake. Yet the small improvements give Tony hope. His mind is consumed.

_Give him time. Just keep an eye on him. A little bit longer. Come on, kid._

When Peter finally does come round, it happens very slowly—so slowly Tony doesn't even realise at first. The kid's head twitches and Tony jumps to his feet, watching Peter blearily take in his presence and the Milano.

"Hey, there you are. Thank God. It's okay, kid, just take it slow," the engineer says breathlessly, feeling almost frantic for the teenager to be okay. Peter's eyes flick here and there. His pupils have evened out with the improvement of the cerebral oedema but he's not focusing very well. Tony's gut starts to sink.

"Peter? It's me, kid," he says, frowning, snapping his fingers over Peter's eyes. "Can you hear me? Focus up."

_That_ gets a response at least. Peter shies away from the clicking sound, Tony reflexively gripping his hand to Peter's jaw to hold him in place, still more than worried about his spinal injuries.

It's a mistake.

Peter jolts against the cot, colour draining from his face so quickly Tony can see it happen, obviously wracked with indescribable pain. Tony's stomach drops in turn.

" _Shit,_ " he breathes. "Mantis, I need you!" he calls out furiously over his shoulder.

Peter is burbling under his fingertips, barely coherent, but he can hear the _make it stop_ clearly enough and it punctures him to hear the kid in so much agony. His hands start to shake where they cradle the kid's body.

"I-I want to go home," Peter manages wetly and if the _make it stop_ wasn't unbearable enough, these words blindside Tony, gut him through and through.

He turns back to Peter—desperate to comfort him—but the kid's already out.

"Shit!" Tony hisses again, instantly assessing his breathing and settling his limbs. Still not good. Maybe worse. And if the level of pain is anything to go by...

"Mr Stark," Mantis greets a little uneasily, holding her hands up, fingers rhythmically clenching with nervous energy.

"He's out again," the engineer replies, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, worry and frustration and exhaustion all fighting for control over his fragile emotions.

"Oh," Mantis says softly. She delicately strokes a finger along Peter's temple then snatches it back, yowling with pain.

"What is it?" Tony demands, rising straightaway and taking her by the shoulder.

"The blood is not stopping," Mantis gasps. "His heart is so weak and the blood is filling up the places it should not be. It's a terrible ache, sharp and burning. It's hurting him greatly."

Tony's eyes sting. He angrily blinks back tears. "We need a doctor or something. Someone medical. What I wouldn't give for Strange or Banner..." Tony scrubs a hand over his chin.

Mantis shakes her head, antennae tilting this way and that. Her expression is grave. "That will not be enough. He is weak, weaker than he was an hour ago. I do not think he is going to survive."

It's too close to FRIDAY's dire prediction, another confirmation of what Tony didn't know was his worst nightmare until he was thrown through a portal with a teenage vigilante from Queens.

He rounds on her. "Oh, I'm sorry, you became an expert on medicine when exactly? And what the hell do you know about the human body anyway, much less an enhanced one?" Tony spits savagely, rage soaring like a fire. How _dare_ she suggest the kid is going to die. His mind boils and seethes.

"What even _are_ you, huh?" he demands uncontrollably. "Some kind of genetic splice? The hell do you know about me or this kid or what we can handle? He is going to be fine!"

Mantis is backing off slowly, her hands raised and expression creased with fright. Tony doesn't realise his armour is assembling around him until the rest of the Guardians flood into the med-bay, Quill stepping in front of his teammate with his arms out.

"Tony, that's enough!" he shouts. Tony presses his lips together, a bead of sweat rolling down his face, mixing with the blood there. The Guardians watch him carefully, bodies straining with tension, legs spread in fighting stances. Reluctantly, Tony lowers his gauntlet, letting it retract. The realisation hits him like Thor's hammer; he has no back-up here. They fought Thanos together but these are not the Avengers and the Guardians are not his people. All he has right now in the universe is Peter. He steps back to stand in front of the cot, shielding Peter from them.

He won't let the kid die, not for anything. He promised to keep him _safe_.

A memory flashes into his mind: their voyage out here which feels like years ago but could only have been days prior. Peter, fidgeting with nerves and swaying from foot to foot, hands clenching and unclenching around his mask as they'd descended onto the surface of the orange planet.

" _You alright, kid?_ " Tony had asked him. The look the kid had given him, his trembling half-smile and flushed cheeks—he almost thought Peter was going to lie, put up his usual bold-faced front. But there was no disguising the sheer panic bleeding from the kid's eyes.

" _N-Not...Not  really?_ " he had said finally, huffing an anxious laugh, brown eyes glistening.

" _Hey._ " Tony stood in front of him, taking him by both shoulders. " _You stay by my side the whole time. I'll get you back home, kid, I promise. Just stick with me. Us earthlings gotta look out for each other. Right?_ "

Peter nodded and smiled, some of his fear fading. " _R-Right. Right! I've got your back, Mr Stark, I swear. I won't let you down._ "

Tony had chucked him under the chin, amazed at the teenager's bravery. " _I know._ " The words came clear and simple. " _You never do_." The beatific smile the kid had given him, all watery puppy eyes and abiding faith, had brought a lump to his throat. He remembers  having to clear it, then patting Peter's shoulder and stepping away. " _And how come we're still at 'Mr Stark', hm? What am I, my father? It's four letters, kid, I know you can manage that._ "

The kid had chuckled. He'd put on his mask and they'd stood side-by-side, watching the docking bay unfold, about to step onto a new world together to defend humanity. As they walked out into the dust, Tony thought he was willing to give everything to keep Earth safe.

But not this. Not Peter.

"Alright, what the hell is going on in here?" Quill demands, running a hand over his head.

"I told Mr Stark that the younger Peter is dying and he became very aggressive," Mantis offers shakily.

"I need to get him back home," Tony grits out, like Mantis' comment didn't just cut him to the quick. "I can't explain why but his healing factor isn't...He needs Earth's medicine. Probably a dozen surgeries. And we have regeneration technology that can help him. I can't do anything for him here. We're not moving fast enough."

"Okay, I get that," Quill says placatingly, "and I'm working on getting us back to Earth as soon as possible. But, Tony, these asteroid fields are a bitch and I can't jeopardise everyone's safety to shave some minutes off our ETA."

"So find another way," Tony shoots back immediately. "You've perfected intergalactic travel down to an _art_ and weren't you the one who bragged all the way out here about how you're the best pilot in this quadrant of the galaxy?" Tony shakes his head, eyes crinkling with incredulity. "You're seriously going to stand there and shrug your shoulders and tell me it's out of your hands?"

"You're not getting me. It's not just about how quickly we can make it back, man. Look, I've been monitoring your kid's vitals from the cockpit and it's...it's not good, Tony," Quill tries. "You're a smart guy, you've got your AI, and you're not _blind_ , you gotta know that. I'll take another look at the charts, see if there's any other option, but—"

Tony's eyes narrow on the Star-Lord. "What are you saying?" The question comes low and dangerous.

Quill swallows and pauses for a second. He blows out a breath, his expression creasing into something guilty and bleak. Tony knows what he's going to say before he does. "I'm saying that...Tony, I'm saying I don't think we're going to make it back in time. At least not for the kid. I'm sorry."

Tony's left hand starts to tremble. "You know it's not just for him we need to get back urgently, right?" he says cuttingly. "Or have you been off-world for so long that you just don't care that your home planet is endgame in Thanos' crazed scheme to blow up half the universe? That kid of mine needs a doctor and humanity needs saving. If those aren't good enough reasons to get us back there double-time, then some Guardians you are," he finishes with a sneer. Quill goes stiff with shock and the rest of the Guardians seem to tense up more with indignation.

"That's not fair, man. I know this has got to be eating you up inside but there's only so much we can do. I'm so sorry," the Star-Lord says grievously, "but maybe Mantis is right. Maybe it's best if you start preparing for the worst."

"I'm always preparing for the worst," the engineer fires back, with such bitterness he can _taste_ it, "and I'm telling you that it's not going to happen. Not to the kid."

Quill opens his mouth to retort, but Rocket cuts him off.

"Uh, guys? What's that noise?" The med-bay goes silent. There's a faint gurgling sound only Rocket could've picked up beneath their arguing. It's coming from behind Tony. He spins round, aghast to see blood foaming and bubbling on Peter's lips.

"Kid?" he asks, voice trembling.

"Turn him on his side!" Quill orders, rushing over. Together, Tony and the Star-Lord roll Peter as he begins to cough. Blood comes thick and fast from between the kid's parted lips, his face creased with pain even in unconsciousness. It runs down Peter's cheek. The pillow under his head darkens with blood. The kid's chest shudders, strangled breaths caught in his throat, air pushed backwards by torrents of scarlet. It splats heavily on the metal floor around Tony's boots as he tries to get the kid through it, his own heart pounding a mile a minute.

As Peter lurches to cough out another round, Tony realises he's awake again when an agonised whimper spills out alongside the blood. It makes his heart crack to listen to. His hands hold the kid a little bit tighter when he shakes with the force of his coughing, broken legs trying to curl up on the cot.

"That can't be good," Rocket says awkwardly.

" _Holy shit,_ " Quill breathes. "Look at him, Tony. He's getting worse," the Star-Lord continues, even as Peter starts to settle. They roll him back, wait for his wheezing gasps and breathless groans to calm. Quill takes the opportunity to drive the knife in further. "We're not going to make it in time."

Tony settles back into the seat at Peter's side, watches the kid's eyes rove over the ceiling. There's blood all down his chin and the sides of his face, even clinging to his neck and his heaving Adam's apple. "We'll make it," he insists.

"Come on, Tony," Quill says, throwing his hands up with exasperation.

"Don't you have anything _better_ to do? You're the pilot of this floating trash can. Plot us a course and get us back to Earth _now_ ," he demands furiously, refusing to process anything but the grievously injured teenager lying before him. The kid's colour is appalling. He's paler than Tony's ever seen him, body shaking intermittently. He still can't seem to catch his breath, wincing and gasping quietly on the cot.

"He's not going to make it, Stark," Gamora spits. The cruelty in her tone makes him recoil. He shakes it off, takes hold of Peter's hand and lets his fingers settle on the pulse in Peter's wrist. It flutters too quickly and it's so very weak. The kid's fingernails are blue and his hand is like ice in Tony's. He tries to smile when Peter's gaze falls on him, bleary-eyed and barely tracking, hardly conscious.

"How long are you going to let this continue? The damage is catastrophic. His healing factor is doing what it can but it's prolonging the agony. You know this. We all do. Are you going to let him suffer on until his heart gives out?" Gamora challenges, sounding disgusted.

"He's tougher than he looks," Tony says simply, ignoring the groans.

"I am Groot," the tree says, like it means anything.

"Even animals don't have to go through this!" Rocket chimes in.

"He fought honourably," Drax adds. "He should have dignity in death."

Through clenched jaw, hissing like an animal, Tony says, "You don't know what you're talking about. The kid'll be fine." _Ignore them_ , he thinks over and over, heart racing. _Ignore them all. He's okay. He's going to be okay. He's got to be._

Peter's shoulders tremble with frailty. The blood is wet on his face.

"I know what it is to lose my child," Drax says simply. They're delicate words. Fragile. Like glass. The kind of words that shatter in him, splinter in a thousand different ways that he knows will never truly heal. Tony feels the pieces of them dig into his chest like the shrapnel of old. His breathing deepens and his eyes fill. He suppresses a choked noise, all his stress and panic and concern drowning him suddenly.

He can't lose Peter. Not to Thanos. Not when he's only known him for a couple of years and he's got his whole life ahead of him to live and make Tony even prouder than he already is.

" _Tony_ ," the kid pants, like he knows. His name on the boy's lips is a struggle. He meets Peter's fading eyes, drinks in his young face, his innocence, and the blood gleaming around his mouth.

"Shh, kid, it's alright," he murmurs thickly, taking the cloth from Peter's chest and swiping the blood from his skin. "I'm not gonna let anything happen to you," he vows. Not when the realisation comes to Tony like a heart attack, his blood thumping in his ears and his arm, pain in his chest, his eyes damp.

He loves the kid like he's his own.

To lose him...It's unthinkable.

Underneath the denial howling in his mind, Mantis is saying, "I can make it painless. He would not feel a thing. Like falling asleep."

The gauntlet clasps to his hand with barely a thought. He spins in place, repulsor raised. "Get out. If you have any idea what's good for you, you'll leave us the hell alone," the engineer snarls. "You let the kid take a beating for you back there and now you're hanging around like bad smells. You want something to do? How about you make yourselves  _useful_ and find us a way out of this asteroid belt? Let me worry about the kid, because I can be damn sure none of you were."

Guilt flickers over their faces, overshadowed by rage. He glares right back, doesn't lower the repulsor until they begin to file out in seething silence.

"Tony," a desperate voice says behind him, drawing his focus. The only thing that matters. He turns with the gauntlet retracted, places his hand on Peter's shoulder to steady him. "Tony, I-I remember," the kid breathes, "remember what happened—"

"Shh," Tony orders, mopping at the blood that's still trickling out of Peter's mouth. If the kid gets worked up, it could kill him. "Then you know it's imperative that you stay still and keep quiet, okay? Save your energy, kid. You'll need it for the trip home."

It's the wrong thing to say. Tony watches with his stomach aching as the kid's eyes start to water, fat droplets slipping sideways into the hair at his temples.

" _Tony,_ " Peter begs. Tony's gaze slides away.

If he looks Peter in the eye, it'll be true.

He focuses with everything he has on gently scrubbing away the rest of the blood around Peter's lips, ignoring the way his own vision blurs and smears the red on Peter's skin. Unexpectedly, the kid shifts, trying to hold his head up. The cloth is abandoned as Tony cups the back of Peter's neck. He imagines the hairline fractures that must be there, cracking through the bone beneath the chilled skin.

"Alright, alright, nice and easy, it's okay." He tries to be soothing but his heart is fluttering and making his voice shake. It's agony watching the kid's face break up, the horror in his expression as he drinks in the violence marring his body.

Peter's eyes squeeze shut and he coughs, more blood spurting down the chest of his costume. The spatters of ruby shimmer under the med-bay's glaring light. The smell of copper rises on the recycled air.

"Oh, G-God," the kid grits out. "It's bad, huh? Tony, it's bad, it's so _bad._ "

Tony swallows _. He's going to make it, he's going to make it, he's going to make it_. The thought is so fierce it makes his temples pound.

"I know it hurts, kid, I know," he manages. "Try to relax."

But he's not relaxing. Tony's heart rate skyrockets again watching Peter flinch and jolt with terror and pain. Tony's fingers clench uselessly, unable to help. There is sweat springing out on the kid's face. It's like he can't hold his head up anymore either; it drops back and Tony has to steady him, worried out of his mind.

"Okay, that's enough," he orders, chest heaving. "Calm down, kid. Give yourself a minute. Your super healing is taking care of everything. Just gotta give it some time."

He doesn't know if Peter can hear him. The kid jolts once more, body spasming involuntarily as it tries to process the damage. Tony's eyes fill up again watching the kid struggle through the pain. "That's it, kid, you get some rest," he tries gently, willing his voice to be steady. "You're okay. Everything's gonna be okay. Lie back—there you go." Tony eases him down to lay flat on the cot again. He has never held a newborn, much less lay one down, but he wonders fleetingly if the sensation is the same. How gentle his hands have to be, filled with the fierce urge to protect, to do good instead of harm.

"Alright?" he asks quietly. "Good job."

Peter's eyes are rolling back. He's barely with it. His head tips to the side and he spews more blood. Tony can hardly watch. He runs his fingers through the hair above Peter's ear, marvelling at the softness, his boyish face, and the unbearable cruelty of it all.

"Just stay with me." He doesn't know who he's begging; Peter, or maybe the universe. The tears slip down his cheeks unbidden. "I'll get you home." _I will. I promised_.

"I couldn't stop him," the kid whimpers. As if it was his responsibility alone to stop the Titan. Grief floods Tony, that the kid could think his sacrifice was useless and that he could feel guilty because of it. "I thought—"

"Please stop talking, kid, _please_." He can't listen to this. Peter's exhausting himself. Tony shakes his head weakly.

Peter's worn out eyes meet Tony's, positively swimming with terror. "You're gonna fight him again, aren't you." It's not a question.

Tony's blood goes white-hot faster than an exploding star, skin prickling all over. His head flushes as an image of Thanos crushing the kid replays in his mind, rage vibrating in him with almost kinetic energy. He trembles with tension. His fist tightens on the cot. "I'm going to _kill_ him," he vows. If it's the last thing he does, he'll destroy Thanos for what he's done to the kid.

But, if anything, Peter looks even more distraught. "D-Don't fight him alone, Tony," he pleads. "I can help. Maybe if..."

Tony goes dizzy with the absurdity. An unhappy laugh escapes his throat. "You're done, kid. No more taking on beings of immense power for you. At least not till you've made it through college."

It's a weak joke, one he hopes will distract Peter, keep him calm. Instead, Peter's face tightens, his gaze floating up to the ceiling. He wheezes suddenly.

"Kid?" Tony stands up to lean over him, blanching as Peter slackens immediately. His eyes fall shut.

An alarm sounds overhead as FRIDAY blares to life in his ear. "He's in cardiac arrest, Boss! His heart's stopped!"

_God no._

"HELP!" he screams, voice ricocheting around the med-bay. "Help me!"

"Initiating automatic defibrillation sequence in three, two, one..." FRIDAY counts down and the  spider emblem on Peter's suit flashes. His chest arches and Tony thinks of his broken back and pelvis, his damaged nerves, those rib fragments shifting and cutting his organs to ribbons.

It's a small price to pay to keep the kid alive.

"No heartbeat detected," FRIDAY reports. Cold sweat beads on Tony's face. "Initiating automatic defibrillation sequence in three, two, one..."

Distantly, Tony's aware of the Guardians surging around him, Quill holding him back from the cot as Peter seizes again. Blood trickles from his mouth and then, horrifically, from his nose, his pale face lax and bruised as his head rolls against the pillow.

"No heartbeat detected," FRIDAY declares again. Tony's legs won't hold him. Quill has to take his weight with one arm around his shoulder and another around his waist before he falls.

"...three, two, one..."

The spider emblem flashes again. Peter lurches and falls back to the cot with a thud, one arm sprawling off the side.

"Heartbeat detected."

Tony's head tips forward, chin resting on his chest. Air saws in and out of him. His eyes squeeze shut so tightly pain splinters up to his hairline. Shakily, he opens his eyes and lets go of Quill, patting his arm. He covers his mouth with a weak hand, swiping away the tears that run down his jaw.

He stumbles forward, the chair just barely catching him. He collapses against the cot, feels for the warm puff of air from between Peter's lips. His other hand courses through Peter's hair, letting him know he's here.

"Oh my God," Quill breathes, running a hand over his head.

"Just tell me you've figured something out," Tony croaks, not looking back.

"He is suffering," Drax says lowly. "This is cruel."

"I looked at the charts," Rocket adds, voice gruffer than Tony's heard before. "We're not getting back to Earth for days. The kid...He doesn't have days, Tony."

"You have to make a choice, Stark," Gamora speaks up, gentle for the first time.

Tony's head tips back to stare at the ceiling, gulping breaths through his mouth, last tears falling down his cheeks. He lets the light blind him, a burning white circle, still there when he shuts his eyes.

How is he supposed to decide something like this?

"If...If we can just control his pain," he tries unsteadily. "He could make it till we get back to Earth."

Quill sighs sadly. "You're not thinking straight, Tony."

"He _could_."

"I can try and help with that," Mantis pipes up. Tony spins round to look at her. "I don't know how long I could do it for though. He was hurting so much before and it will be worse now."

"Just try?" He's more than willing to drop to his knees and _beg_ for the empath's help. " _Please_."

Mantis nods. She moves to the head of Peter's cot. Tony draws another chair around for her and she sits, resting her arms either side of his head and placing her fingertips on each of his temples. Her eyes close and her antennae begin to glow, like tiny stars, lighting the washed-out planes of Peter's face. There are dark rings beneath his eyes, shadows of suffering. But Tony stares in awe as—miraculously—some of the fine lines of pain around the kid's drawn mouth ease. He takes a breath that isn't a gasp or a gurgle or a rattle and Tony took it for granted before, the easy rise and fall of the kid's chest.

Just as Tony thinks it might be possible after all, Mantis makes a terrible pained noise, high and wounded. Her arms shake but she doesn't let up from cradling Peter's temples.

"Mantis?" Gamora questions.

"Talk to us," Quill adds, eyes narrow with concern.

"It's okay," she wheezes. "He is in...a lot of pain, that's all."

"Don't hurt yourself," Quill orders. "If you need to stop, then you need to stop. Who knows?" The Star-Lord huffs out a breath, runs his hand over his mouth. He doesn't look convinced, even as he says, "Maybe Kid Peter will pick up a little."

 

* * *

 

He doesn't. Mantis sits over Peter for an hour until finally, sweating and dry-heaving, she has to take a break. Tony reluctantly agrees with Quill and the others that they need to split up the sessions for Mantis' sake. Peter doesn't wake once, but every time she moves away, he goes into shock, has heart attacks that leave him fighting for life all over again, each time the defibrillator dragging him back into existence. It's a combination of blood loss and the pain; his heart is too weak and the pain just overwhelms him whenever Mantis has to stop and recover for a moment. And with every new cardiac arrest, it takes more and more shocks to get his heart beating again.

They're up to eight when Peter finally lurches back to life. For the first time, Tony has to step away. He stumbles into the corridor outside the med-bay, bent almost double gripping a metal fixture, breaths blowing in and out of him in small explosions.

Quill follows him out, puts a hand on his back. The Star-Lord clears his throat. "I'm gonna tell Mantis to stop, Tony," he murmurs. "It's not fair, man. On her or the kid."

He's right. God knows he's right.

 "How far are we from Earth?" Tony says instead of answering.

"Still too far, Tony—"

"No. I mean, can you see it, the Earth? Like are we on the approach yet or what?"

Quill eyes Tony like he's wondering if he's lost his mind. Tony can't say he blames him. "No, we're not even in the same solar system yet, man, let alone if you can see it out the window. What's this about?"

Tony nods to himself. In less than a heartbeat, his fist crunches, once, _twice,_ into the metal fixture until his knuckles creak and blood drips down the sides of his palm. Quill grabs him by the shoulders.

He doesn't meet the Star-Lord's eyes. He lifts his clenched fist and breathes carefully—in through his nose, out through his mouth—as he inspects the damage. The sharp ache and the throbbing in the back of his hand is a welcome, all-too-brief, distraction from the crippling, grief-stricken atmosphere that soaks the ship like an ocean.

For just one breath, his terror drowns him. His heart pumps too quickly, his hands go numb. White static nearly takes his vision and Tony feels a sudden panicked urge drench him from head to toe. He thinks if Quill didn't have hold of him, he'd walk to the closest airlock and let himself out.

It's a pan flash in his mind, gone before he can really comprehend the madness of it. He snaps his eyes onto Quill's aghast face, forces his brain to start processing the words he's saying under the ringing in Tony's ears.

"Are you out of your mind? You're gonna need to wrap that," Quill is insisting but Tony shakes his head.

"'S fine, really." He forces himself to speak. "This is what I need. Some kind of computer display or a hologram. You got one of those lying around this pile of junk?" the engineer questions, amazed at how steady the words sound, even as the voice seems like it's coming from someone else. _I'm really doing this. God help me._

Quill blinks, mouth opening and closing for a second. "Uh, y-yes, sure? Somewhere. Why do you—"

"FRIDAY, can you hook up with Quill's tech? I need a image of Earth, either a GIF or a looping video, rendered as realistically as possible. Account for our probable distance, trajectory, and speed of approach."

"Got it, Boss." Her voice is solemn. She, at least, has caught on, even if Quill is a step behind.

"What do you need all that for?" he asks, frowning suspiciously.

Tony takes a deep breath. _In through the nose, out through the mouth._ When his voice comes, it doesn't shake. "Because if we can't get the kid back to Earth, then I'm bringing the Earth to him."

Understanding blooms on Quill's agape face. He sniffs and nods, clapping Tony on the shoulder. "We're really doing this."

"No," he says. "I am." He will bear the gravity of this choice alone. The kid is _his_ responsibility, after all.

Quill gives him a look of grim resignation and doesn't say anything after that. He doesn't have to.

 

* * *

 

The holographic display is brought up from the ship's storage and FRIDAY produces a pristine image of the Earth on it. It's so realistic, even Tony thinks he could be forgiven for imagining home is really that close and that he won't have to make this terrible, final decision.

As Mantis prepares herself to enter Peter's mind one last time, Tony finds he cannot sit still. He burns with energy. His skin prickles and his legs jitter uncontrollably when he tries to relax. His mind runs numbers, tears through calculations. He asks himself over and over if there really is no other way. His hands scrape through his hair again and again. He paces and paces, trying to wear out the tension. That strange mania that overcame him in the corridor twists his thoughts, turns them in knots. He runs circles around himself.

_This is penance_ , something says in his head. He escaped space once all those years ago with the nuke and the Chitauri and now the universe has come to collect its debt. _Take me,_ he screams back, imagining a bolt of lightning, a solar flare, carving through the spaceship and obliterating him, Peter rising from the cot unscathed.

It's such a detailed fantasy as he treads backwards and forwards, boots clinking on the metal floor, that when he stops to breathe for a second, he is momentarily surprised it doesn't happen.

_Am I really doing this?_ he wonders deliriously. Beneath the wild visions, he feels like he's going to keel over. _Am I really going to let this kid die?_

"He is awake," Mantis says, her clear pronouncement cutting through the babble in his head.

_Peter_.

The voices die soundlessly.

Tony rushes to his side and sits, boots scraping on the floor. The kid's eyes blink open, drowsily take in his presence. Tony can hear his tiny wheezes as he breathes, his chest barely rising, his cheeks hollowed out. Peter's face is almost grey in the light, the stained blood and violet bruises standing out starkly on his temples and jaw. The engineer doesn't mean to but he can feel himself gaping, like it's the first time he's truly looked at Peter the whole awful voyage. Truly looked and _seen_ what the Guardians had tried to tell him all along, what Peter himself had known.

The remorse takes him off-guard, stirs in alongside the rest of his grief. He will never forgive himself for dragging out Peter's end like this.

Yet, despite the kid's ashen complexion, his brown eyes are clear, his face relaxed. He looks serene, but very tired. It's so nice to see him awake, it brings a lump to Tony's throat.

He forces himself to speak through it. "There's the Boy Wonder," he sighs softly, tender with relief, wanting to seem as normal as possible even though everything is so very far from okay.

"How're you feeling, kid?" he continues. "Gave us all a pretty good scare back there." Peter blinks at him sleepily. Mantis had warned him about this when he and Quill returned to the med-bay and announced what was going to happen. She had said Peter was so weak he might not even wake again, let alone speak. It's okay. Just looking at the kid's peaceful face awake is a blessing Tony didn't think he would get and certainly doesn't deserve.

"Hm, yeah, I bet," he carries on, as if Peter had answered him. He swallows when his voice shakes. "We're not far from home now." He tries to make himself seem as delighted as possible. "You wanna see?"

He shifts back and lets Peter view the hologram. The way his face melts into open astonishment brings tears to Tony's eyes. He is hard-pressed to keep them back and doesn't even try.

" _I made it_ ," Peter manages to whisper and Tony finds the room greys out around them, swallows a little wretched sound. He clenches his injured fist, letting the splintered ache draw him through the grief pawing at his soul. Very forcibly, he schools his expression into a soft smile.

"That you did," he offers, keeping his voice low to hide the way it shudders and cracks. The happy tears on Peter's cheeks make his heart squeeze and throb. "Won't be long now," he promises. He looks up at Mantis and she is grimacing—with pain or sorrow, Tony can't tell.

" _Wow_ ," Peter murmurs but Tony barely hears it.

He is watching Mantis, listens to her say, "He is very peaceful. I cannot put it off for much longer. His body is too weak," even as his blood rushes in his ears and his breathing quickens, every mad and sorrowful thought united in his head in one awful mantra:

_This can't be happening, this can't be happening, this can't be happening._

Tony nods, tries to breathe. "Hey, kid?" he forces out, shifting from the chair so he's sat on the edge of Peter's cot and drawing Peter's aching smile. He needs to know, when he gets back to Earth and May and when all he has to offer her are words of cold comfort, what Peter would have wanted to say to her.

He also doesn't want to tip the kid off for a second. Peter's so out of it, he's pretty sure he wasn't aware of what Mantis was talking about just over his head. But he wants the kid to go as peacefully as possible. He doesn't want him to be _scared_.

"If you could tell your Aunt May one thing—just one—" he says carefully "what would you tell her?"

A tiny crease appears between Peter's eyebrows. "What for?"

Tony's gut pangs with guilt for making the kid struggle in his final moments. But he knows if Peter was in his right mind, if he hadn't lasted this long and had died there in the dust of the alien world, that he would have begged Tony to pass along his final words to May.

Tony won't let him down now, even if he's failed him in nearly every other regard.

"Doesn't matter," he replies casually. "It's just a game. I'm curious. One thing you could say to your aunt."

Peter's chest rises and falls slowly while he thinks. It doesn't escape Tony's notice that the spaces between the inhales and exhales are growing longer. "I don't know..." he says at last "prob'ly...thanks so much for taking...taking care'a me. A-And I love you."

It's everything Tony expected and yet hearing the kid say it for certain has tears dripping down his cheeks. _I can do that for you, kid_ , he thinks but does not say. _I can do this much for you_. "Okay, kid," he says with a sniff. "That's good."

There's a moment of silence as he steels himself, prepares for what can only be minutes away. He needs to tell Peter so much, but doesn't want to alarm him. He is trying to think of the best way to phrase it when Peter beats him to the punch.

"D'you wanna know w-what...I-I'd say to you?" the kid gasps out.

He feels himself go still on the cot. _Don't tell me, kid,_ he thinks. _I don't deserve it and I...I can't bear it_. "...Sure, kid," is what he says. "If you want to tell me."

Peter gulps a breath. Tony struggles to breathe along with him. "I-I guess I'd say thank you too," Peter starts "...f-for looking out for me and giving me my suits. A-And how you're like...you're like my favourite hero. T-The best. A-And h-how you're such a...such a good guy—" Tony doesn't feel like a good guy. He fleetingly wonders if his past is so heinous, if he himself is truly so vile, that the universe could deem _this_ a fitting punishment.

Peter's voice is thin and fading when he says, "—a-and I guess how you've been...you've been like a d-d—"

He can't get the words out. But Tony hears them. In the very centre of his being, something aligns. It settles and shudders to life. It illuminates with a blazing rush of love, then cries out in terror at how quickly it's swallowed by anguish.

Another dribble of blood slips out from between the kid's lips.

Tony has to shut his eyes to compose himself. When he opens them, he can barely see for the sheen of tears. It's something he's never done before but he reaches up to cradle the kid's cheek. The waxy skin is so cold as he strokes his thumb back and forth along the kid's cheekbone.

"Mr Stark," Mantis pleads next to him. He's prolonging it, he knows. Prolonging it like he has been this whole journey. His very soul knowing he would be unable to take what's going to happen next.

He nods, tears dripping off his chin. "Okay, alright." His heart hammers a million miles in his chest as he prepares to take the leap into the void. The remainder of his life without watching the kid grow up. He can't help but take Peter's hand with his free one and doesn't flinch at the icy feel of it. He wants to tell Peter how much he loves him, that he was like his very own kid. But it would startle him too much and Tony wants to keep Peter's affectionate, awed expression burned into his memory for the rest of his miserable life.

"But if I could tell _you_ something, kid," he says instead, "it'd be that I'm so proud of you. You did good, okay? You did a good job and you can tap out now. We got you home, kid," he lies. "You did it."

Peter smiles wider and his head tips to the side to stare at the hologram. Tony can see his breaths slowing, the way all the tension is melting from his body.

"It is happening now," Mantis murmurs. He knows. He can see it. The way the light is literally disappearing from Peter's eyes.

The pulse point in his wrist that Tony is still holding starts to fade.

He blinks quickly to clear his vision and when his gaze sharpens again, the kid's eyes are closed.

"Kid?" he asks through the tears in his throat. " _Peter?_ "

The light from Mantis' antennae grows fainter until it disappears. She lets go of Peter's temples. "He is gone, Mr Stark."

_No._

For a long moment, Tony can only gape at the kid. He squeezes his bloodless hand, strokes Peter's hair. Distantly, FRIDAY tells him he might be going into shock. The words don't register. He stares so long, the tears welling and spilling down his cheeks on their own, that he starts to see through the body on the cot.

As Peter's lifeless form starts going slack, instead Tony sees the end of all things. He sees Thanos clenching his fist and shattering the Earth to pieces, the sun being blown out of the sky. It should disturb him.

Underneath the cool numbness that is spreading through his limbs, it doesn't even faze him.

Peter's fingers are uncurling on their own. His mouth falls slightly open, head sinking into the blood-spattered pillow. Mindlessly, Tony's hand shifts down from Peter's hairline, his thumb moving to sweep back and forth over his eyebrow and temple. He wonders fleetingly if the kid is with him in spirit. It doesn't feel like it. There's an empty shell laid out before him, heartbreakingly young and shockingly battered. But Peter is gone.

In the wake of the Milano, Tony imagines Peter's soul flickering in the starlight, slinging along brightly through all the cosmos behind them, swirling in nebulous gases of new stars.

Finally, as he chokes down his sobs, he sees his father. Howard Stark was never one for religion and neither was he; Stark men are futurists, pillars of science, made of _iron_. And yet there is Peter, still and broken, paying for the sins of both men. Tony's mind cannot fathom all the mistakes that led them to here.

His failure swamps him. His grief swells. Tony ducks his head and weeps. Tunes out the awkward shuffles of feet, the stifled clearing of clogged throats, and suppressed tearful sniffs. The Milano dissolves around him.

The future is an impalpable place now, sinister and uncertain, not the steady stream of promise on which he rowed before. Tony lets himself be swept away on this new current of emptiness and devastation. He doesn't know where it will take him. He doesn't care.

He's already lost.

 

**Author's Note:**

> this is how long it's taken me to get this fic out that the new trailers literally invalidate the whole thing ayyyyy! dr strange who? and infinity war taking place three years after civil war?? oh and it's titan as in saturn's moon that's apparently the planet they're fighting on? lmao


End file.
